Chpt 11
by macgyvershe
Summary: Puppet without strings


**Near Death pt 10**

Dave, Scout and Keller have a death grip on Sherlock but it is taking every ounce of their combined strength to subdue the insane man in their hands. Sherlock seeks only to rush back into the burning building.

"You don't understand. John is in there. I have to go help him out. He's been drugged; he'll never make it out on his own. Let. Me. Go!" With that the man known as Sherlock Holmes escapes his rescuers and sprints faster than a cheetah toward the smoking industrial building.

"Shit," Keller exclaims and starts leveling commands into his mic/earwig; listening to the chatter that is snarling up communications. "Everyone to the building on fire; John Watson is in there somewhere. Notify the advancing fire department that we have people and possible hostiles inside as well. They can't enter the building nor even approach it until all hostiles have been neutralized."

Dave has a tablet out and he and Scout are bent over it and conferring about site plans and possible exits and people on the ground. Keller turns toward them and is unwilling to let them out of his sight.

"Coming?" He says with patience to his counterparts in Sherlock's hacker and homeless networks. "We have got to find that mad git before his fries his ass or we're all going to go down in flames with him. Mycroft Holmes is not a man whose brother you want to let die in a fire." The three men start running in a more sedate pace that wouldn't take them into the flaming building just yet.

(-_-)

Sherlock re-enters the now burning industrial. There are no immediate flames in his area, but the smoke is everywhere and getting thicker. He slowly makes his way to the third floor where he left John. The smoke necessitates that he crawl most of the way. He's moving floor by floor using stair wells that are also slowly getting clogged with smoke. The higher he goes the worst it gets. Finally he's at the right floor and he climbs the shelving against the southern wall, shoving aside the ceiling tile that exposes the lowered ceiling and a crawl space. The air up here is slightly more breathable than below. Air is coming in from somewhere. No John.

"John!" Sherlock yells at the top of his lungs. "John!" No answer. Sherlock hoists himself up into the crawl space where there is some ambient light. There against the far wall light and air is coming from above. His John wouldn't stay in the smoke. This is an old building; the fire escapes are on the outside of the structure. John would have to go to the roof to get to the escape ladder, but he'd have to be careful. L's people and maybe even L are still at large. Most likely she set the fire hoping that Sherlock and John would get caught in the conflagration. The bitch will pay for this, he thinks.

The fire engines are silent. Sherlock knows that Keller will keep everyone out. He can't risk the first responders, not even for a Holmes. Swat will be on the scene soon, but the fire won't wait for anyone. He and John are on their own for now. Sherlock climbs the rebar ladder that extrudes from the wall. He's trying to go as fast as he dare, but still be on the lookout for an ambush. There is a trap door above that's open to the roof. Sherlock shifts the gun that he pick-pocketed off Keller from his inner pocket to the small of his back.

He rises up out of the building and cranes around looking for John. There, there he is. A prone figure on the light colored roof next to what appears to be a door structure that comes up from the stair well.

Hoisting himself out of the opening at light speed he rushes to John. Gently he moves his lover onto his side. "Shit." Sherlock is shocked. There a new injuries on his face. He wants more than anything to lift John into his embrace, but he remembers what John has drilled into his thick skull. 'Don't move injury victims.' "What that hell have they been doing to you?" He is beyond angry.

L moves out from behind the standing structure of the stair well. She has John's Browning aimed at them. "Ah, my young Holmes, come back to me. I knew you'd be back for him. Even through the fires of hell, you're just that kind of guy aren't you?"

"Buildings on fire L, we have to get the hell out of here." Sherlock is rabid, knowing L is the one who's hurt John further.

L's mobile rings, she pulls it out of her pocket and thumbs it to speaker. All the while keeping the gun trained on John, knowing that will control Sherlock effectively.

"What's happening L? I'm hearing there's a fire at the number 10," a male voice with a melodic brogue questions?

"Master, I have Holmes and Watson. There is a fire at number 10, I can pull this out and complete my mission."

"L, I'm not in the mood for your antics. You had your shot. I told you to turn this one over to Bworz." There is a dark condemnation in the man's tone.

"I have them," she presses. "Master, I have them."

"You've tried my patience, L."

L's head explodes as the sniper bullet shatters it splattering Sherlock and John with blood and brain matter as she drops to the roof. There is no doubt that she is dead.

Sherlock grabs her mobile and flings it as far as he can over the furthest edge of the roof.

"Sherlock," John says opening his eyes. "You okay? Get to cover." John is grabbing Sherlock by his great coat and together crouching and running they make it to the stair well entrance.

Sherlock is so happy to see those midnight blue eyes filled with their normal intelligence and sparkling with danger.

"Possum, really John?" Sherlock pulls a disbelieving face at John as he engulfs John from behind in a rib cracking hug.

"Later love," John has retrieved his Browning as he passes L's shattered body. Smoke is coming up the stair well and pouring out of the building. John is looking for the sniper, following the given trajectory. "He could have had us right there. We should be dead. L's master has other plans for you Sherlock. You should never have come back." John didn't say _for me_.

"Bloody hell, I wasn't going leave you here with that mad woman." Sherlock is getting his ire up. "I will never leave you, John." Sherlock can't help but look at the bruises and abrasions that mar John's well worn and much loved face. "Don't ever ask me to do that. Keller, Dave and Scout are out there trying to get to us."

"Well that's some good news at least." John checks the Browning, she's ready. Gunfire erupts from several locations inside and outside the building.

"There are ten of L's men still inside but Keller has more people on the ground. If you stay close to me we could chance moving to the edge of the roof and look for the fire escape," Sherlock says confidently.

"We're not chancing anything. You are staying right here with me until we get back‒up and know that L's people are dead or captured."

Sherlock embraces John from behind, burying his face into the back of John's neck.

"I thought I'd lost you, that the fire had taken you from me," Sherlock says.

John brings his left hand up to caress Sherlock's face. "I'm in this for the long haul, you daft idiot. Nothing and no one breaks our bond." John shifts uncomfortably. Sherlock can tell that he's putting too much weight on John who is still suffering from serious beatings. Easing back a bit, Sherlock leaves a gentle kiss on the nape of John's neck.

The gunfire has stopped but the fire in the building is getting more intense. The smoke from the door structure is roiling and causing John and Sherlock discomfort. Covered with blood and brain matter, they are now sooty as well.

"There's still a sniper out here, Sherlock. I can almost feel him. He's over there on the roof of that building, a story above us. We can't risk moving from shelter."

They can hear the windows bursting out below them.

"The fire's changing the internal pressure of the building. If it gets too hot the roof will collapse," Sherlock warns. "Take my coat. I'm pretty sure they want me alive. I know you won't let me go out there. Take my coat, go out there and find the fire escape. At least give us a chance of getting off the roof before it goes."

Sherlock watches as John weights the pros and cons of the idea.

"I'll do this only if you promise to wait for me here." John voice is stern‒but his eyes betray him‒Sherlock can see his love shining through.

"I promise." Sherlock says as he removes his coat and hands it over to John.

John puts the coat on, making himself the smallest target possible he leaves the shelter of the door way and goes to the edge of the roof following its perimeter till he spots the fire escape railing. Quickly he returns to his lover. Terrified, Sherlock relaxes visibly as John settles next to him.

"We can get off. I'll go first, draw his fire, give you cover as you make it to the escape."

"No." Sherlock isn't listening to his bull shit. We are damn well going together. I'll leave the Belstaff here. The sniper won't know who is who."

"He could just shoot both of us, you know. We've been lucky up till now. With a scope he could tell us apart if he concentrates hard enough."

Sherlock says "Oh."

John can tell Sherlock is having one of his Eureka moments.

"Give it?" John squints at his brunette.

Sherlock took Keller's gun out of his pants waist band. Using it like a hammer he drives the hinges free letting the door ‒the old, solid wood door to come down in front of them.

"It won't stop the bullets but it will slow them down."

"You are a genius." John says as he ruffles the large curliness that is Sherlock's hair. Using his coat sleeve he swipes it across Sherlock's spattered and sooty face. Leaning in, he thoroughly kisses his mad genius. Then he pushes them both back into the inner wall of their safe haven.

Sherlock can tell John's energy reserves are waning. The adrenalin rush is quickly evaporating; the injuries are taking their toll.

More crashing of glass from below can be heard.

"John that's the firemen breaking windows," Sherlock is ecstatic.

"You can tell the difference‒of course you can," John smiles wearily.

"This means L's people are neutralized and Mycroft's minions are letting the firemen in. They are cross ventilating the building so they can better attack the blaze. Tricky stuff that. So are we going to do this? The door will cover us to the fire escape but we won't be able to use it going down."

John takes a deep breath and leans his head back on the door structure as he closes his eyes. "Sherlock, my energy levels are nearly gone."

"Not leaving you again," Sherlock says.

"Then I guess we wait for the firemen to get to us." John says sadly. "That is unless my resident genius can get us off the building? You have any wings in the pocket of your Belstaff?"

"Nothing here on the roof to work with, I'm going down the stair well a bit. See if I can find anything to help us out."

"Sherlock, I can't have you risking asphyxiation. There are toxic gases in the smoke."

"I have more than a passing knowledge of the contents of smoke." Sherlock tucks up, turns and starts crawling down the stairs before John can argue further or stop him.

John is distraught knowing even Sherlock can't hold his breath long enough to get too far. "God, I'm going to kill him when he gets back." John keeps looking for the sniper. Has he left the building or is he waiting for them to break cover. The fact that they hadn't been killed with L is encouraging, but‒.

From the North end of the building an amplified voice is talking. "Sherlock, Sherlock if you can hear me. Give us a sign‒where are you? Firefighters are entering the building."

"On the roof! Possible sniper on the roof of building to the north!" John shouts as loud as he can. "Sherlock get your arse back up here." John yells down the stair well.

John can hear gun fire from the other building. Hopefully they have the sniper in hand. From down in the stair well he hears mechanical noise like fans being turned on. The smoke comes rushing out of the stair well, followed by a very bedraggled Sherlock Holmes. He's coughing hard enough to cause him to vomit.

"Damn it, Sherlock." John drags his lover to him and begins loosening his tight clothing, placing him on his side so that he can maintain a clear airway. Sherlock is panting, coughing he appears confused and struggles against John's attempts to sooth him.

"What, where‒John‒where's John?" Sherlock asks as he continues to flail about.

"I'm right here Sherlock." John tries to soothe the tall brunette. "Don't thrash around so, love. Be still. I'm here; we're going to be all right."

"Johns hurt; I have to get to him. Let me go. I have to save him. He's everything. He's my life." Sherlock is distraught and continues to try to break free of John's hold on him.

"Sherlock, I'm here. I'm safe. You've saved me, you madman, my beautiful genius. Whatever you're thinking, think on this. I love you. We beat the devil-bitch-from hell. Mycroft's people are all over the building‒."

"Mycroft," Sherlock practically spits the name out. Finding in himself the clarity he feels for his governmentally esteemed and deeply despised elder brother.

"There you go," John smiles "I knew we could get you back on track. Breathe slow and easy now. Medics will be here shortly. We'll put you on oxygen and you'll be just fine. All fine." John gathers Sherlock up in his warm embrace and Sherlock, finally recognizes his lover, holding him tight.

John breathes a sigh of relief and the silence is broken by the storm of people coming onto the roof.

Scout and Dave come up the fire escape as medical personal arrive on the scene via the now cleared stair well. Sherlock is taken from John as the medical team separates them to be worked on separately. Keller arrives on scene with his entourage of minions in tow.

"Watson," Keller sees that of the two of his charges, Watson appears more with it. "I need a full report as soon as I can get one."

"Yeah, yeah," John says, exhaustion warring with duty and exhaustion winning. "When I've rested, eaten, slept and made sure Sherlock is fine, I'll be all over it."

"How is Sherlock?" Keller asks.

"I believe he is suffering from mild smoke inhalation, nothing that some oxygen and rest won't alleviate. Did you get the sniper on the other roof?"

"He didn't go down easy, but we got him. I'm just happy that Holmes is alright. His brother can be pretty difficult when his sibling is involved."

"L is dead; killed by her own people. One less psycho in London, but why'd they take her out? That's troubling."

"I want coroner transports as well as more police vehicles to pick up suspects, forensics and a major clean-up crew at number 10 Bywater Street ASAP. We have a serious mess to comb through and clean up before end of day."

(-_-)

Medics start IV's on both patients and they are strapped down to gurneys as they are transported to separate waiting ambulances.

"Mr. Holmes is being given oxygen and a mild sedative to calm him down; he appears to be doing well." The paramedic told John.

John could see that the medic had an earwig and was probably in touch with the other ambulance. Mycroft‒‒Mycroft was probably facilitating this communication; knowing that John would be desperate for word on Sherlock's status.

"Tell Mycroft I appreciate his providing this information for me." John smiles at the paramedic and he smiles back. "Shouldn't be we close to the hospital now?" John asks.

"You're being taken to a private facility, Dr. Watson. Not to worry, you and Mr. Holmes will be given the very best of care."

John settles in for the ride. Knowing Mycroft would only accept the very best of care for his little brother. Slowly, softly John drifts away not hearing the words spoken or the ambulance stopping or his gurney being unloaded. He doesn't hear anything and his mind is given over to the silence and the much needed sleep.

(-_-)

Dave and Scout commandeer a ride to the hospital to follow Sherlock and John. They call Lestrade to let him know about the situation and give him a status report. Upon their arrival it is found that neither John nor Sherlock has been admitted. Hurriedly other local hospitals were called. Lestrade arrives and speed dials Mycroft's number to see if John and Sherlock had been taken to a special black ops hospital for the governmentally exalted or that infamously under known secret agents frequent. Mycroft is adamant that nothing like that has happened. Upon further investigation, ambulance units had been called, but within minutes the order had been cancelled and the units had stood down. Somewhere in the big bad world John Watson and Sherlock Holmes have been taken away, to where and by whom; that is the question.

The search ensues. The Homeless Network and Sherlock's computer hacker network Serpents Tooth begin an all out assault on the city looking for the missing couple. MI5 and MI6 are scrambled. Mycroft is the power behind the government; no expense is spared, no stone unturned, all the usual suspects are plucked from his or her reality and turned inside out for information. Nothing. Nada. Zip. The big goose egg. It's another day in London town. The winter rains are deluging the city. It is cold, grey and the rain washes away the stale air and people scurry to their warm places. It's not a night to be out in it. It's not that kind of night at all.

(-_-)

John wakes and his mind is fuzzy and his mouth is dry. He's naked in bed. There is a blazing furnace on his right side. His lover is curled away from him. John moves to encircle Sherlock. His left hand is caught in something. He stares at his arm. His wrist is manacled in some kind of a plastic like substance. John startles now. There is danger here. With his free right hand he gathers Sherlock up against him; shaking his sleeping lover.

"Sherlock." The tall man is limp in his strong embrace. "Sherlock." John scans the room. The colors and placement of objects give the overall feel of their bedroom. But closer inspection shows that it isn't. This is no hospital. This isn't 221B. Sherlock is moving sluggishly. John tugs on the white material that encircles his left wrist. He is tied to the bed frame. It feels like the white material is glued to his skin. There is very little give.

He does a thorough examination of Sherlock. He has not been restrained and though he looks the worse for wear due to the ravages of the industrial fire. He appears okay. "Sherlock, I need you alert. I need you to listen to me."

Sherlock shakes that magnificent head of dark curls as if casting off water after a drenching rain. He looks into John's eyes and happiness invades those crystal blue laser eyes. He hugs John close breathing in is lover; basking in the warmth of his beloved.

"Sherlock, we're not in the hospital. I've been restrained. We need to know where we are. The last thing I remember is being taken away by ambulance from the warehouse."

"I was in the smoky stair well and I was trying to get back to you and I got lost." Sherlock said his brain finally coming back on line and he too gave their surrounds a determined stare. "L's dead this isn't her doing. Unless her minions hi-jacked us in the ambulance."

"Hello, my dears." A soft voice with just a hint of brogue sounds from everywhere. "I do hope that you are feeling better after your ordeal?" The voice inquires.

John places his left foot on the floor and pushed gently on the bed to see if it can be moved. No movement. Sherlock is free, but he'd never leave John behind again, not after the fire. John is thinking a mile a minute. He looks into those genius eyes and practically wills them to find answers.

"You have us at a disadvantage," Sherlock begins. "You know who we are. I can tell by your voice that you are L's master. The man who had her killed on the roof top."

"Yes, clever boy. I'm that very same man. I do find it difficult to keep my toys from breaking. That's the problem with toys they never really meet your expectations do they." He gave a snickery giggle that chilled Sherlock to the bone.

"Just what the hell do you want with us and who the hell are you?" John snaps twisting and turning his wrist trying to find some way to rid himself of the binding, but only proceeds to tear skin.

"I'm the very essence of secrecy. The man not found. Not even looked for. My name is Moriarty. James Moriarty. My devoted followers call me‒‒."

"Master." Sherlock breathes the name.

"And I'm here to take what I want." Jim's voice has an edge to it now.

"He wants me." Sherlock says without hesitation. "He wants to take me away from you John."

"Not going to happen." John crushes Sherlock to his side in bitter defiance of Moriarty's plan.

Sherlock beings to tremble in John's arm. He turns to look at John and there is fear and desperation on his exquisite face.

"What is it love‒‒what's happening?"

Sherlock is swaying now, wrenching himself from John's grasp.

"Sherlock!" John is upset and angry and not knowing what the hell is happening.

"If you don't come with me I will make you do terrible things." Moriarty says. His voice is venom eating the heart out of all who listen.

Sherlock stands his nude body a perfect sculpture of ageless beauty. There is a bed side stand on his side of the bed. He opens the small door on the stand and pulls the Browning out. He double hands the grip. His eyes wide now and his mouth open in disbelief as he moves the gun to aim at John's head.

"Sherlock, what the hell?" John can't believe his eyes. Can't believe and neither, it seems, can Sherlock."

"He's my puppet on a string now. He'll do whatever I want him to. Shall I have him kill you Watson? Would you like to see what that does to his brilliant mind?"

"No, I will not go with you. I will NOT kill John." Sherlock yells.

John can see him straining to move the gun away. Sweat glistens on his face. He is shaking, his tremors becoming stronger and stronger.

"Stop!" John says. Sherlock begins to lower the gun. "Go with him." John demands of Sherlock. "Go with him and forget me. The best man has won and I concede defeat." John lowers his eyes and rounds his shoulders. "Leave me," John shouts at Sherlock, making him wince at the roughness of John's voice.

"That's a good man." Moriarty says soothingly. "Come Sherlock. Don't look back. Your doctors not worth a second thought."

Sherlock turns toward the only door, the gun limp in his hands. He moves slowly. As the door opens, John can hear a sob of self destructive sorrow escape Sherlock's lips. John watches as the door closes on Sherlock. He tamps down the rage in his heart. He cannot fathom what has transpired. How Moriarty has such control over John's lover and his life.

**Before you dis me for the mind control thing. Google Non-invasive Brain to Brain Interface (BBI). Neural interface systems (NIS). Focused ultra sound (FUS). There are people actually working on this kind of control. Right now a human thought can affect the brain of a mouse. So not so sci-fi but a focus for something in our future. Now whether that is a good thing or not, I leave to you dear reader.**


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